氷の女王
by VanitasFajitas
Summary: 25 year-old and unemployed Kyoko Kouriyuki, strangely, has never heard of Kira. Yumika, the last of her forgotten species, the Surugami, has escaped from the Shinigami Realm's place of punishment. Now that she is free, she has the power to take host of a human who has touched her Death Note. What if someone has already been holding it? What will unfold once Kyoko consults police?
1. On Cold Wings, She's Coming

**Author's Note: Kyoko Kouriyuki, clearly, is an OC, and I found it ironic when I discovered that there is actually a Death Note character named 'Kyoko' (I'm not completely caught up on the series, yet). Having the name 'Kyoko' in the characters list is convenient, so I am taking advantage of the situation and using it to list my OC, Kyoko Kouriyuki. **

**Kyoko's Point of View**

"_Donna toki datte_

_ Tada hitori de_

_ Unmei wasurete_

_ Ikite kita no ni_

_ Totsuzen no hikari no naka me ga,"_

My eyes open to the sound of the song I adore most. Not for long, but for a few moments, I close my eyes and listen to the darkness I see, hearing the gentle rhythm of nostalgia coming from my alarm clock radio. The song I hear is special to me, not for the relevance in my life, but for the imagery. I've always loved Utada Hikaru's writing.

"_Donna toki datte_

_ Zutto futari de_

_ Donna toki datte_

_ Soba ni iru kara_

_ Kimi to iu hikari ga watashi o mitsukeru_

_ Mayonaka ni_,"

I remember mornings when I would listen to the chirping of birds and the sound of little, animal feet rustling through the grass. When I would part my blinds, through the hazing of the sunlight, the animals would always be there. I wonder what happened to them. One particular morning in December, I expected to hear the animals stirring about, like usual, but instead, I heard silence. I haven't seen or heard from the animals since. Perhaps something or someone has frightened them away?

Within a week of their bizarre disappearance, I had to start setting a _real_ alarm clock, so that my brain would have a signal noise to know when to wake me. Today, I very well could've slept in. You see, I haven't the money to go to college, and during my time as an adult, I've been working at the coffee shop as a barista. Just recently, the shop was repossessed due to various missed payments, and converted into a sweet shop. Each and every employee, including myself, was replaced.

I do miss the aroma of coffee throughout the day, decorating the menu boards for specific holidays, and making small conversation with habitual customers. I wasn't much help to the shop, but the customers seemed to be fond of me. Very few of them visited on a regular basis, so we easily knew what the "usual" was when the time came. A bald, middle-aged man who adjusted his glasses every few moments would always order the turtle with extra whipped cream, the teenage girl with the pink, feathery hair always ordered her lattes with a bent, yellow straw, and my closest friend, Akiko Hikari, loved the hot chocolate without marshmallows. Those three were our top customers.

I find it a bit ironic that her favorite item at a coffee shop was the hot chocolate. On my first day on the job, she made sure to be my very first customer, ordering her first hot chocolate from _Auburn Drinking_. Akiko never went to it before my employment there. I suppose, she was doing her best to support my occupation. Now, I have no job to go to, but I believe that it happened for a reason.

Perhaps it's a sign that I'm ready to pursue my true dream career: art. I could get a college loan, but it would take me ages to repay. Even so, I don't see any other way to pay for college. Things do tend to happen for a reason.

"Hikari"'s time on the radio comes to an end, and a cyclic pop distortion has taken its place. I adjust myself into a sitting position, lean towards the nightstand, and press the "OFF" button on the alarm clock, watching the red numbers fade into the blankness of a powerless electronic. _I think I'll have some breakfast, today, _I think to myself, stepping out of bed and smoothing a hand over the bangs of blue/black hair that conceal my forehead, and gradually making my way to the kitchen. I feel a slight twinge of static as my feet transfer from the carpeted hallway to the cool of the kitchen tiles.

I put some coffee on and a slice of bread into the toaster, drumming my toes against the floor and awaiting my breakfast. After about two minutes of observing the toaster, the bread jumps out, hot and ready to be consumed. I'm never jittery when it comes to making toast, as most people tend to be. Still waiting for the coffee, I take a container of margarine from the refrigerator, pop off the lid, and begin to butter the slightly cooled-down slice of bread with a plastic knife. I prefer for the butter to be as melted-in as possible; it gives the toast the most pleasant taste when I sink my teeth into it. To be prepared when the coffee is finished, I retrieve a mug from one of my kitchen cabinets.

Growing tiresome of reminiscing about my love affair with buttered toast when the food I desire is within my fingers' very grasp, I bite. Nerves of delight dance amongst my taste buds as I chew closer and closer to the center of the bread, where the taste is at its best. I haven't had a slice this good in _months_. It must be the brand of the margarine.

Today, I suppose, will be a rather nothing day. I have finished the novel that Akiko lent to me, so my indulgence in the tales of neglected shadows forming as legion, silence for all to hear, and dreams of sweet nothings is no more. I don't really wish to spend my free time listening to music all day; my ears swell sore when I do so, and my hearing is already damaged from listening too loud when I was younger as it is. And of course, above all else, no job. There must be some way I can spend my time, today.

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of coffee and think. Let's see….

The coffee is ready. I take it from the coffeemaker and contemplate while pouring myself a mug. Hmm, something to do, today….. I blow lightly across the surface. I don't want it too hot. _What shall I do_? Perhaps I'm asking the wrong question, seeking answers from the wrong source…. _Something, something, something, some… _Edgy from indecision, I take a sip of the coffee without waiting long enough and wince as I feel the dark liquid scald my lips. _Someone_! There I have it: my answer. I will spend today with some_one_. I set my barely-touched coffee on the counter, giving it a slight look of sympathy since it is destined to be forgotten, and eventually, poured down the drain. Wasting coffee is a common crime of mine. Always making it, but never drinking it. I think that the mere preparation of the coffee is what triggers my clear thinking and reasoning ability for the day.

I reach over, pick up the phone, and begin to dial the only number in which I've committed to memory other than '911'. I hope that Akiko doesn't have plans today. Just three times, I hear,

_Ring…_

_ Ring…_

_ Ring…_

"Hello?" asks Akiko. I smile warmly. Even over the phone, I can always sense her joviality, and it is, indeed, contagious.

"Good morning, Akiko." I greet her. There is a brief pause.

"Hi, Kyoko. What's your reason for calling?" she asks. I'm sure she already knows.

"I just wanted to know if you had plans for today. That's all." I answer. Another pause…

"Not until now." says Akiko. Only she can put that bright smile into her voice. "What time do you want me to visit?" Akiko adds. My visual focus moves to the ceiling for a few seconds, and then to my feet.

"Hmm, well, you can come right now, if you like." I tell her.

"Alright, Kyoko. I'll be there in thirty minutes or less, or you get your best friend free!" she exclaims jokingly. I raise an eyebrow. It just doesn't make much sense.

"It wasn't funny, I know." Akiko murmurs.

"It was funny, Akiko." I encourage.

"No, it sounded like a hooker reference." she says flatly.

"I didn't even think of it that way until you said something. When you graduated high school with me, you should've left that sense of humor behind." I say.

"I have to say, Kyoko, I'm offended by your harsh judgment." Akiko says, voice full of mock hurt, as I smile, once again.

"I was only teasing."

"I know. I'll be there, soon." she says, hanging up before I have much time to work in the final, unnecessary "okay".

* * *

My ears perk when I hear the crunch of tire over gravel from outside my window, where I can see Akiko's car pulling up. Soon after, the doorbell sounds, and I get up from my chair to let her in. The door swings against the side of the counter and a smile graces her lips.

"So good to see you, again." I greet.

_Meanwhile, in the Shinigami Realm __**(Third-Person Omniscient)**_

The Shinigami looks into the heart of his world. He sighs gruffly. The skies are not even skies. They are nothing but an infinite stretch of discoloration, and when you stare into them, you begin to feel your soul drenching in the consumption of…emptiness. The ground looks not much different. Even the rocks look livelier than the world, itself. _So, this is what my world is_. He grunts with disappointment, thinking of the days to come. Is this going to be the rest of his life? The heart of his world consists of one thing. Not lost souls, not damnation, and not even the Shinigami themselves, but _dullness_.

He scowls at the new Shinigami, who is snoozing on a rock in front of him, when he _should_ be within the pits of Samaji keeping watch of…her.

"Bukkiyo, wake up." the Shinigami huffs. Bukkiyo snorts awake when the he feels a kick in the hip.

"Kage, my apologies. I'm still adjusting to the new circumstances." says Bukkiyo. Kage sneers at him, eye sockets empty and nostrils flaring.

"No excuse! We cannot let her escape the pits of Samaji! She is too dangerous, even to us Shinigami!" Kage scolds. Bukkiyo thinks about this.

"But, Kage, we cannot die. What do we have to fear?" Bukkiyo asks. Kage winces; he's beginning to lose his patience.

"Yes, it's true that we are immortal, but she can still cause us misery." he explains. "Now, go!" he snaps, cocking his head towards the small cave opening nearby. It is the entrance to the pits of Samaji. It is the Shinigami Realm's version of Hell, but most Shinigami have compared it to the Pit of Tarturus, something from the Greek myths created by foolish humans, in ancient times. The 'she' for whom they speak of was banished to it, long ago, for eternity to bear.

"Perhaps I can continue my break for just a few minutes more. Even if she were to escape, what is she going to do, overthrow the Shinigami Realm? It's highly unlikely that she could do it all by herself. She _is_ a woman, after all." Bukkiyo boasts, expecting perhaps a chuckle from Kage. He looks to his elder. Nothing but silence and a disapproving expression. Ah, well; the other Shinigami had warned him about Kage's lack of humor.

"It's nothing that I would be too sure of." says someone from behind them, their voice slightly floating with secure humor. The voice is female. The two Shinigami men do not move a muscle, but Bukkiyo does hear Kage murmur something to himself, something out of fear.

"That voice…it…is impossible…" Noticing Kage's words, Bukkiyo realizes that perhaps he should've simply listened and done his job. A brush of cold air wisps throughout the blank atmosphere. Everything, all of the sudden, feels so, so cold. That is when they know. It is her, alright. _Bukkiyo, that imbecile! He should know that people are banished to the pits of Hell for a reason, _thinks Kage, infuriated.

Long ago, the Shinigami lived alongside another race: the Surugami. While the Shinigami were gods of death, the Surugami were gods of the elements, and the Surugami were dispersed into clans based on their element. Amongst the two races, were the Death Notes. Both the Shinigami and the Surugami would drop their Death Notes somewhere on Earth, a human bound to discover it, sooner or later. While the Shinigami would follow the holders of their Death Notes, once a human got their hands on one of the _Surugami's_ Death Notes, that particular Surugami would take host of their body.

A Surugami can take host of only one human, and if the human dies, the Surugami is sent back to the Shinigami Realm for perpetuity. Once a Surugami takes host of a human's body, they normally do not choose to control that human's actions until or unless said human is someone powerful or of high authority.

That is when she, the traitorous Surugami, proposed the perfect conspiracy. The Surugami could use the humans to their full advantage, and take complete control of their bodies, reducing them to helpless puppets. They could make the humans into their own, new and improved race of Surugami, and have their own Earth to dwell upon.

Of course, _she_ was the leader of the Surugami, and found her scheme beneficial for her own selfish purposes. Even if she would have to leave the rest of them behind in that boring, confounded Shinigami Realm, everything would fall into place for _her_ if she went according to plan.

To the Surugami's dismay, word got around quickly, meaning that the Shinigami found out about this little plan. Even though the Shinigami could not leave the Realm without a human touching their Death Note, the Surugami would make it possible. They could take host of enough humans to get them to touch _each_ Shingami's Death Note, and with the humans being in the Surugami's full control, the opportunity would open up for the Shinigami to roam freely about the Earth, while the Surugami could wander the Earth with of the humans' bodies in which they took host of. Unfortunately for the Shinigami, the Surugami did not see things that way.

It was in the Surugami nature to be selfish, but the Shinigami refused to put up with it. After all, they had been generous enough to share their Realm _and_ the Death Notes with the Surugami, and consequently, had every right to ask for something in return. The Shinigami had the power to obliterate the Surugami to smithereens, but previously, had liked to think of themselves as friends.

The final time that _she _refused to let the Shinigami be a part of their conspiracy, that was when war broke out between the two races. The war was brutal, but bloodless. Metaphoric brotherhoods crumbling, friendships gone to waste, it was a sight for others to deplore. It was a war that lasted for not years, not months, not even weeks…but for one, single day.

Inevitably, the Shinigami triumphed over the Surugami, who had tried using their elemental powers in battle, only to fail. The Surugami's fire clan, water clan, wind clan, darkness clan—the whole lot of them, eradicated to oblivion. Expect for one…

Yumika was the proud leader of both the ice clan and the Surugami race. When walking upon Earth, the ground would freeze beneath her pale feet. When she looked up into the exuberant sky, the sun would hide and the snow would fall. Of course, she could change the weather to anything consisting of the cold, but snow or ice was her preference. When on Earth, she would have to wear a white blindfold over her dark eyes as to keep from freezing the Earth inside and out, which would happen if she were to make eye contact with the Earth for at least forty seconds.

Yumika's skin does not callus. It frosts. Freezing an ocean with the touch of her hand was a simple task—just like writing your name.

The distinct husk of her voice could be used to seduce those who lived in fear to her—seduce them into muted fools.

She was always obsessed with power. She didn't want true happiness, she didn't want love, and she didn't want freedom. Always, only about power. When the ill-fated Surugami writhed and died right before her eyes, Yumika did not feel the slightest flicker of…anything. She hadn't ever cared about her people before, nor did she then. Through the century of their being, her dreams of a world all her own escalated into psychosis and greed. The more she watched her people tremble in her presence, the more she could feel in her heart when their blood ran cold to her_ Cry of the Wintertime_—Yumika wanted to have this sense of power over as many as she could never comprehend.

After the war, things didn't quite go according to her fantasy. Hopeless.

Once the Surugami lost, the Shinigami had an ideal punishment for them in mind. Over a period of weeks, they scavenged the ground of Earth to search for particular humans. They would find humans, scan their life span, and force the defeated Surugami to take host of the humans who were nearing their death. Normally, when a Surugami's human died, the Surugami would be sent back to the Shinigami realm. That was, until, of course, the Shinigami cursed the Surugami from their world. If the Surugami died inside of their human with no place for their lingering souls to return, they would not only die, but stop existing completely.

While the rest of the Surugami were good as dead, the Shinigami had a _special_ place for Yumika. The pits of Samaji, where traitorous threats would go to rest. Yumika had been trapped their for centuries, and many of the Shinigami had even forgotten about her, but here she is, standing in front of the two male Shinigami, who couldn't be more mortified.

Her hair is still that same pale blue. It is not rough, rag-like, discolored, or unmanageable.

Her eyes are still that same grey tint, the color of a moody storm cloud. They are not soft or frightened or hiding.

Her extravagant, thin-layered gown of white looks brand new. It has not yellowed, and it is not tattered.

Her skin is fair and snowy white, not roughed or scarred or abrasive. The only notable difference in her appearance is that her right eye is surrounded by shadowed skin, making her look a bit like a raccoon.

"Yumika…how did you escape?" asks Kage. She forms a slimy, malevolent grin.

"Escape? I was only taking a stroll." Yumika stops to observe the wasteland that their Realm is.

"Though, there isn't very much sight-seeing to do." she notes. Kage emits a growl of sorts, and seems to be eluding eye contact with Bukkiyo. Well, it would make sense, given that Kage does not even have eyes. _That fool! There is no telling what Yumika could or is planning to do. She is surely begrudging the Shinigami more than ever! Vengeance can be terrifyingly dangerous, _he thinks.

"Where's your blindfold, primadonna? Finally remember to do your makeup, for a change?" teases a new voice from behind. Still smiling,

"Ah, Ryuk. So very long it has been since I've last spoken to you. I do miss the hilarity of your antics and I've been growing rather weary of that hellhole that your acquaintances kicked me into eight-hundred years ago." Yumika has always had a nature of talking in run-on sentences.

"Still a little sour, eh?" says Ryuk, as if it were just any old conversation.

"I did not answer your question. I don't need my blindfold, here." she tells him, lips tingling with smugness. They have quite an odd coloring to them: deep blue in the center, and the pale blue on the edges

"Ryuk, do not associate with her! She is our enemy! She is what Hitler, himself, was to the humans!" warns Kage.

"Aw, come on. I just want a chance to talk to my old friend, that's all." says Ryuk, with a tone that most would instinctually not trust. Yumika laughs silently.

"We'll have plenty of time for talking on Earth. Speaking of which, who has your Death Note, now, Ryuk?" she asks.

Ryuk laughs.

_In Japan, with Kyoko and Akiko __**(Kyoko's Point of View)**_

After a few casualties, Akiko gets up from the table that we are sitting at and treats herself to some coffee. Carrying a maroon-colored mug, she sits back down and takes a sip.

"Kyoko, we need to talk about something." she says. I feel an instantaneous twist in the pit of my stomach. Akiko is always so lighthearted, no matter the situation, and the time comes when she does need to talk about something, I know that something is gravely wrong. It is a sign that her life has taken a rather terrible turn of events.

"Of course." I assure, giving her a sincere look in the eyes. My visual focus quickly moves to my feet. Strangely, I feel a difficulty making direct eye contact with her, today. I've never had that problem, before. It seems something that only a socially-anxious person would have, but I suppose things don't always add up. Everyone gets bizarre ticks like that. She swallows loudly and then begins to drum her fingers against the hem of one of the drink coasters.

"I have at least three relatives who are in the task force, and I can't stop thinking about whether they may be murdered, or not." says Akiko. I scrunch contemplative eyebrows. The three relatives she is referring to have been in the task force for many years, and have faced the danger of death since the beginning of their job—why would she choose to be concerned about the possibility, now?

"Akiko, what do you mean by this?" I ask. She widens her eyes and hangs her mouth agape, lips quivering slightly. Is there…something I was not informed of?

"Are you telling me that you…don't know?" she asks.

"Please, tell me, what are you implying?"

"_Kirā_, Kyoko. I'm talking about _Kirā_." A killer…it must be a new case…I rarely watch the news.

"…Kirā?"


	2. When Leaves Have Fallen

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long delay, but I am pleased to say that I am back with fresh ideas for this story. I forgot to mention in the first chapter that Yumika's character, as well as the main connections between Kyoko and her, were inspired by the song "Ice Queen" by Within Temptation, hence this story's title. Read on, and please forgive me if I have made Mihael/Mello's anger too cheesy.**

_In England _**(Third-Person Omniscient)**

Mihael crouches down on one knee and feels frosted blades of grass poke at the fabric of his black pants. His widened eyes are quivering in fear as he reaches out a trembling hand to stroke the inscription on the grave that he now faces.

'_May our beloved Lela Copperfield rest in peace'_.

A brush of winter air slips along his cheekbones and through his thin, blonde hair. Deep down, he wishes that that wind could have been Lela's bony, baby-soft fingers. The pang of miss deepens as Mihael realizes that he cannot even have a caress from Lela's little hands to call a memory, nor the feel of his own slim hands dusting over her freckled skin. Trying not to tear up and act out of personality, Mihael thinks back in hope of finding even the slightest bit of physical affection that he may have shared with Lela in the past, just so that he could have such a memory to cling onto at night between tosses and turns. He recalls the day when they first met, when Lela first came to Wammy's, but he doesn't smile. He can't smile.

_Mihael sits in the center of his bedroom with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms hugged around his legs, and his face buried just where his thighs begin to join his knees. There is a slight line of destruction from where he entered his room. A hole chipped into the yellowing walls, a pile of impatiently removed shoelaces, and a clump of his hair right beside him, all reminders of what kind of day he has experienced, today._

_ A young girl, only a few months apart his own age, peers through his cracked door, with a few curls of her ginger hair bouncing over her sleeved shoulder. She emits a very small gasp, as if not expecting to see someone else in this room, but does not walk away. She figures that it was too quiet for him to have heard it, whoever he is. Her warm, brown eyes glitter as she memorizes his image, the way that he looks _right now_, in the immense stress that this boy appears to be in._

_ He doesn't come off as the type who would want to solve his feelings by sharing them with another, but this girl still wants to ask if he is okay. After seeing someone in this state, she cannot turn back. It's in her nature to try and comfort those who need it, whether they resist, or not. Just as parts her lips to ask a simple "excuse me, but is something the matter?", and to her surprise, she hears _him_ speak._

_ "What are you _doing_ here? This is _my_ room." he asks bitterly, feeling his use of speech vibrate deeply against his knees. Although she was right about his personality type, she can't seem to understand why someone who is clearly so hurt would wish to reject kindness when it comes their way. She'll have to work with him, somehow._

_ "I…" she considers using the excuse "I'm sorry. I am new here. I must have the wrong room." but decides against it._

_ "Go away." he orders, still not even bothering to look up at her from his knees._

_ "I was only going to ask if something was the matter. You appear to be bothered or hurt. I can't stand to see someone bothered or hurt." she says._

Her words and attitude had shocked him, and while he did have an appreciation for her compassion, Mihael still threw her out of his room, that day. During Lela's first few weeks at Wammy's, she would not seem to leave him alone. He would bite at her with hurtful words, and she would give him friendly words, in return. Mihael never would understand why Lela had chosen to be kind to him at random, _and_ so persistently, but he was certainly grateful. Lela always liked to think of it as "friend at first sight". He thinks of the time when he had first accepted her friendship, or come to his senses, for that matter.

_"You wanted to see me?" asks Lela, eyes burning with curiosity and anticipation. Her attitude towards him perplexes him to such an extent that he has to turn away from her gaze, in fear of what he may end up doing. There is no telling!_

_ "Yeah." Mihael responds. Lela breaks into an impish grin, still without him looking, of course._

_ "Were you planning to…admit something…something along the lines of…being wrong?" she asks, utterly aware of the pressure that this will put on him. Mihael wrinkles his premature features in a grimace. _

_ "Don't waste your breath. You're not getting anything like that from me." he tells her. Lela falsely pouts, knowing that this does not mean she has failed, yet._

_ "What did you request my company for?" Lela asks him. Wanting this to be short, sweet, and to the point, Mihael turns around to face Lela. Unsure of his next move, her heart flutters ahead of just one beat._

_ "Look, all I wanted to say was…" he pauses when he notices that she is trying to suppress laughter. Why would she want to laugh?_

_ "Was that you are…" she says with one eyebrow raised, suggesting for him to carry on with his point. He releases a combination of a sigh and a grunt when giggles finally escape Lela's pale lips. _

_ "Was that I'm sorry for the way I acted, before, okay?" Mihael admits, beginning to walk off, as an attempt to walk away from emotion._

_ The sound of laughter behind him does not fade._

_ It soon turns to snickering._

He_ soon stops walking._

_ Not as against his will as he had expected, Mihael allows a returned smile to spread across his face._

_ "Thank you. That was very sweet of you." says Lela. Out of the blue, Mihael bolts around and takes a giant leap to a spot just beside where she is standing._

_ "You wanna know what else is sweet?" he asks, reaching into his pocket. _

_ "T…tea?" she guesses. _

_ He pulls two wrapped chocolate bars from his pockets. _

_ "No, but good try. Well, no, not all tea is sweet. You should've tried harder." Mihael says, handing her one._

_ "Very well." Lela says, undressing her chocolate bar and rudely stuffing the golden aluminum foil in the pocket of Mihael's black jeans. She bites off one square corner, and he joins her._

_ "If you don't mind me asking, how may I have the pleasure of addressing you? If you keep it hushed, I'm going to have to call you 'Willy Wonka'." Lela warns, followed by another indulging in chocolate, one of the many wonders about our Earth._

_ "Just call me 'Mello'." answers Mihael. Lela does not question her new friend when he licks the back of his chocolate bar._

Mihael squeezes a hand around the right corner of her grave, reading the inscription over and over. His other hand is clutching something inside of pure black wrapping paper. There was a secret that only Lela had known about Mihael, and that was his love for writing. Although she would normally only catch him organizing case files, normally regarding L in some sense, she acknowledged how he would not simply write it in that expected, narrative author tone. Mihael seemed to try and experience what the human subject had been feeling, he tried to truly live those senses, and depict them just as a novelist would. He used comparisons, the five senses, and even sauntered off into his own personal opinions, from time to time, although, he would quickly use an "anyways, back to the story" line. Nevertheless, Lela adored his knack for writing.

He nearly scolded her for when she would try and encourage him to write a novel of his own, when he had never actually considered the matter, himself.

From _Sherlock Holmes_ to his secret stash of sad romance novels, Mihael loved to read. He and Lela would often share works that they found back and forth.

Mihael feels trails of tears dance down his face and onto the hem of his shirt. After planting a reluctant kiss on it, he holds the gift so that it is hovering over Lela's burial section.

"I wrote you a book, Lela." he begins, gathering a recollection of when he first began.

_Mihael hears a knock upon his locked bedroom door, and for awhile, ignores it. He coughs softly in reaction to the dust that he inhales. Although he doesn't quite know how to begin his work, yet, he dips the pen into the odorous, black ink, thinking that perhaps having a wet pen could help jump-start his thinking process. _

_ For the last two weeks, Mihael has been putting together brainstorms for his first novel. Once it is finished, he plans to surprise Lela with it. He still has her believing that he protests to writing a story of his own._

_ "Mello, are you alright?" he hears Lela's voice drifting through the wood of his bedroom door._

_ "I'm trying to take a nap! Leave me in peace!" he scolds. He remains completely stationary until he hears her gentle footsteps fade. She complied without any question, but he doubts that she actually believed him when he claimed to be taking a nap. A smile forms over Mihael's lips._

_ A novel just for her._

"I know how you always wanted me to write one." he tells Lela's grave, unable to keep his voice even the slightest bit steady.

Lela was always the only one who truly understood Mihael Keehl. While it may seem to most that his main priority was to defeat Near as Mello in their competition of wits, she knew the one thing that he truly wanted: acceptance. And she gave him that.

She was fully aware that Mihael was immature and could be selfish when he wanted to beat Nate River, but unlike other children at Wammy's, Lela had seen his other sides, as well.

As a friend, he took care of her, and as a friend, she not only knew him, but helped him to accept himself as who he was as a human being. To her, it was heartwarming and simple. To him, it was lifesaving and confusing. As a childish individual, her guidance was essential to Mihael.

Now, he felt like a small child who had been left behind, out on the frozen streets to fend for himself.

He is now on both knees with his arms and hands pressed to his torso, trying to keep the cold air from taking him in its arms, haunting him with a reminder of his loneliness.

"Lela, why did you leave me?" he asks between sobs. "Why did you leave me on my own?"

He knows that it is not her fault and that he needs to stop this. Nonetheless, he kicks the ground near where she is buried in frustration and loss.

"Mello…..not only are you allowing emotion to get the better of you, but you're taking our dear Lela's untimely death in vain. Think about this….do you believe that she would have responded this way if you were to be the one dead, by blaming you for abandoning her?" says a voice from behind. Mihael quickly sets the book against Lela's gravestone and clenches his fists. _Near_.

He has most likely been observing Mihael this entire time. To humiliate him? To prove Mihael's incompetence as an emotionally-weak successor?

Mihael turns around, points a madly trembling index finger at Nate, and voice shaking, says,

"Near…."

"Mello." Nate says in a casual manner, as if they had just begun an any-day conversation. Mihael takes a few steps closer to where Nate is sitting in the grass.

"Even after all of this time, I never would've guessed that even _you_ would go this low." says Mihael, angered that Nate has easily witnessed his most vulnerable moment.

"Mello…." Nate murmurs, shaking his head.

And within the speed of light, Mihael lunges forward and threateningly grabs Nate's shirt collar. Nate does not seem to be worried of future injury.

"You listen to me, Near! You _don't_ know Lela, and will _never_ have the right to speak for her. Do you _hear_ me?" he asks, tears falling wildly from his eyes.

"If that's how you feel." Nate replies. Mihael releases his grasp on the white collar of Nate's shirt, letting Nate drop against the dead grass with a tiny thud.

Preparing himself, Mihael draws his arm backward, elbow high in the air, and thrusts it forward soon after, punching Nate clean in the face. Admittedly, Nate found the sensation of pain provoked from Mihael's punch to be quite unpleasant. Looking up at Mihael with an irritated glare, Nate ghosts a few non-concentrated fingers over the sting that lingers upon his cheek.

Nate considers stating that fighting him will not bring Lela back, but swallows the words once he sees the tears clouded around Mihael's eyes, deciding that it would be best to remain silent. This lost little boy will get nowhere if they resort to bickering or physical fighting, nor will he if Nate leaves him be with Lela's grave to shout at.

"Do what is in your will." he tells Mihael, sighing and leaning his head towards the new gravestone.

_In Japan _**(Kyoko's Point of View)**

For many moments, Akiko does not utter a word. She simply sits there, delivering to me the most surprised of looks, as if not knowing of this 'Kirā' is not knowing of Hideki Tojo.

"Have you actually not heard about Kirā? If so, you must be the only person in Japan who hasn't." she asks, just to clarify that she has understood me correctly. Drawing my own attention to the tiled kitchen floor, yet again, I roll my lower lip under my front teeth for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry, Akiko, but…who is this 'Kirā?" I ask her. Akiko gives a facial expression that hints me of exactly the type of thing that she is going to say, next, slightly rolling her eyes.

"You must find me to be so introverted." I say, postponing whatever she had planned to tell me. She releases a small chuckle and lets faux innocence play out in the hazel of her eyes, much like the way a small child would look at the adults when she was young, if they were accused of picking on someone else.

"Now, Kyoko…if you're serious about not knowing who Kirā is, then I suppose I'll have to tell you. Ready?" asks Akiko. I give her an assuring nod accompanied by a miniscule smile. She begins.

"Well, you already know what 'Kirā' means." she assumes. I give another nod. She goes into the next sentence with a giggle.

"For the past few weeks, many criminals have been dying, but that's not just it. You see, most of these criminals are said to have died of heart attacks. They think that whoever this Kirā is, that he or she requires a name and face to kill their victim, because each of the victims have had both broadcast on television or posted on the internet." Akiko explains. _Interesting…_I tap a finger against my chin.

"Some think that what Kirā is doing is good, but most believe that it's just murderous, altogether. You see, the police believe that Kirā's primary motive is to create a perfect world, or rid the world of the bad people. Kirā doesn't seem to be interested in killing innocent people, but Kirā _will _kill any police officer or detective who gets in their way. There's plenty of theories floating around. Some think that Kirā was or is a criminal, him or herself, some think that Kirā isn't real…some even believe that Kirā is a student. I, myself, don't exactly know what to believe, but I think that the most likely theory is that Kirā is doing this because they think it's right, and that they think it's helping society, but that's more of an assumption than a theory. Evidently, Kirā can control their victims before they die. We haven't been shed much light on that part of the case. Much of it is classified for the task force, only, which is understandable." she tells me.

. This is unlike any case I've ever heard about! I am rendered with so many questions. If what I'm being told is true, then how does Kirā do it? How can they manage to kill all of these criminals without being caught? Is there no DNA or fingerprints? This all just seems a bit nonsensical. By the way that Akiko has been referring to Kirā, I would infer that the police have come to the conclusion that Kirā is thought to be only a single person, not an organization or group of some sort. I wonder where I should begin.

"Then how do you already know so much?" I ask her.

"My relatives in the task force let me in on a lot of the info." she answers with a wink. Rolling my eyes teasingly, I begin with more questions.

"Does this mean that Kirā can victimize them, regardless of whether he or she is with them, or not?" I ask.

"I'm pretty sure that's right. There's never been any sign of Kirā being near the victim before, during, or after the death." says Akiko.

"Do you think that Kirā uses others who are willing to be caught to carry out the murder?" I ask her. Akiko sucks her teeth in the 'well, I don't think so' manner.

"It's highly unlikely. There haven't been any reports about prison break-ins, or individual people killing his victims. Besides, there aren't many ways a human can give another human a heart attack, Kyoko." she says. I am a bit embarrassed.

"Oh, yes, of course. I had forgotten about that detail." I tell her.

"Well, this whole Kirā thing is a lot to take in. You've got to consider every possibility at least once." she encourages. _Hmm…every possibility_?

"Do you think that…it could consist of something…supernatural?" I ask. Akiko holds an impish grin.

"Now, we're talking!" she exclaims, springing out of her chair and darting down the nearby hallway. I smile and soon follow. The child in Akiko still lives.

* * *

I sink against my bedspread and patiently watch as Akiko rummages through my closet of neglected, shoe-boxed memories, carefully setting aside anything that isn't of use, in order make room for easier searching. She eyes something hidden under a stack of scrapbooks and cautiously pulls it out from the bottom. She uses the end of her sleeve to wipe away a thin layer of dust from the book.

"Hey, Kyoko, I think that I found your seventh-grade yearbook." she tells me, holding it high in the air in the way of a kindergarten teacher ensuring that her students can see the picture in an educational storybook. It lacks the slanted gleam from years ago, when I first purchased it from a counter in the school lobby.

"Seventh grade. What a dreadful year; children in middle school are so cruel." I say.

"You couldn't be more right." replies Akiko, sliding the faded year back into its proper place.

"…but, we're not here to reminisce, so this little guy is going to have to wait another day. We're here to perform do-it-yourself, at-home investigation." she says. She gives the stack of books a light pat and nudges them to the right.

"Do you think we'll be able to come to any productive conclusions? Perhaps information that may be of help to the task force?" I ask, feeling doubt in its sincerest form.

"You never know. They've been putting out some very bizarre notations, so I'd like to think that they'll accept much of anything." Akiko tells me. I'm not so sure that I agree. She takes a thin, orange shoebox and drops it onto her lap, reading the bold print scribbled across the lid.

"_Ancient_ _Japanese Myths_? This sounds promising." she says. I actually don't remember having the box. What can I say? Throughout the years, the mountainous clutter will only increase, and the more that is added on, the more will be forgotten or lost.

"I wonder if Kirā is using a method of purging based on one of the myths." I say. Akiko raises a reproving eyebrow.

"Are you having second thoughts about that theory of yours?" she asks, removing the lid from the shoebox.

"Well, I suppose it was a bit far-fetched. I was contemplating the most improbable possibilities, first." I admit. Her face contorts as she marvels at the contents of the box.

"Kyoko?"

"What have you found?" I ask her. Akiko chucks the lightweight box in my direction, and misses just by an inch or so.

"What do _you_ make of it?" she asks. I retrieve the box from the floor and immediately find something questionable.

"The box is empty." I tell her. Akiko stands from the carpeted floor, wind-milling one arm in the air and landing her alerted fingers on the foot of my bed.

"But what do you _make_ of it?" Akiko asks. I take a moment to ponder what she is asking of me, precisely.

"I'm not sure what I make of it. I suppose it's an empty box." I answer.

"An empty box, huh?"

"It isn't relevant to the Kirā case." I say. She takes a seat beside me.

"It's a box that has been stuffed up in your closet, for…say, three years at the minimum, and it reads the words 'Ancient Japanese Myths'…but the box, itself, has nothing inside. Empty as the piñatas as the store. Why would you have labeled the box in the first place if you didn't plan on putting any books or thoughts inside? Did the contents fall out? Did you throw it away? Are you even the one who wrote the words? Is this even _your _box? These are all possibilities, but I can't jump to any good conclusions if I can't get any help from _you_, Kyoko. So, tell me about that box of yours." says Akiko. I have to say, she'll always be full of surprises. She seems quite proud of her little detective mode. I wouldn't want to disappoint her.

I can see the drawer in the corner of my eye. It is not the drawer where I place opened letters from previously disconnected relatives. It isn't the drawer where I hide my favorite candies from the children who I sometimes watch during the day for an old friend. We all have something, something in our house, perhaps a room in the corner of the hall that the real estate agent failed to give us the tour of, or an attic where footsteps can be heard throughout the serenest hour of the night, something that we tend to overlook and pretend simply isn't there. It is the drawer on the bottom right to my computer desk, and hasn't been useful to me for the past two years.

The drawer contains only one thing, and that one thing is something that I haven't even thoroughly discovered, myself.

A couple of years ago, when I was twenty-three, I was walking alone a sidewalk that edged a small park in Japan. It's always been my favorite. My fixation was on a nearby tree, and I couldn't help but grow curious when I noticed something drop from the arms of the tree. When I took a closer look at the scene, it was a notebook.


	3. Don't You, See It?

_"So, you just want me to write as if your notebook is just some prank in the?" asks Ryuk, holding his writing utensil awkwardly. _

_ "Yes, Ryuk, and write it in Japanese and drop it into Japan of the human world, nothing more." Yumika clarifies. Grunting in understanding, Ryuk begins to scribble something on the front cover of her notebook. She doesn't bother to peer over his shoulder. He is not _absolutely_ unreliable. Rather than that, _unpredictable_ would be the word. _

_ "Is this good enough?" he asks her after less than two minutes. She contorts her expression in upset._

_ "Ryuk, did you even try?" asks Yumika._

_ "Come on, there must be _someone_ in the human world who will fall for this!" defends the Shinigami._

_ "Very well and if you say so. Now, I suppose I will see you in several hundred years. Today I will be confined to the pits of Samaji by orders of your King." she dismisses, walking away without wait for his goodbye, as well._

_ "Alright." he mutters, flying off to the portal that leads to the human world with her newly modified notebook in hand. _

_"Heh heh…this'll confuse them for sure…"_

_In Japan _**(Kyoko's Point of View)**

"Akiko, the box is…"

"Yes, empty. We've already surpassed that factor." she interrupts.

The notebook was black, and had the words '_Property of Rikai Fujibayashi_' written in white across the top. As many would do, I took a peak inside. It was a short note.

"_I am pleased to see that you have come across my notebook. All will be of sense within time, but please, until then, do not write in this. Alongside this, do not ignore little Rikai's message. It can be found on the next page." _ There wasn't anything to make of that. I didn't know if it was intended for a friend, or if it would be followed by a return address, or perhaps something else. I knew that my only chance of discovering anything would be to continue reading.

"_I am Rikai Fujibayashi, which you probably know from the front of the book. I wrote this on August 14__th__, 1793, at age twelve, at around seven at night._"A notebook certainly couldn't have been in such good shape if it was from the eighteenth century. I was sensing an amateur prank upon my hands.

"_Within a minimum of two years of finding this, and a maximum of six, someone will knock on your bedroom window at 11:02 PM. If you do not have a bedroom window, it will be your front door. Please harbor this until then."_

The print on the next several pages was so sloppy, it was absolutely unreadable. I was about to examine the back cover, but someone had called me on my rarely used cell phone. I'm not one to ignore phone calls, because there's no telling if it's urgent, or not. I closed the notebook with delicacy and slid it into the bag around my arm before answering. From that day forward, I haven't looked at the note. Not even the slightest glance. It's been separated from the outside world, inside of a locked drawer in my bedroom. It was clearly written by an adolescent, so I'm unsure of why I ever stuffed it in a drawer at home.

At first, I had placed it inside of the box that Akiko and I are contemplating, at present, but soon moved it to that drawer. The strange part is, that two weeks after doing so, I began to catch glimpses of a young girl in my home and even in public. I am not sure as to whether it's hallucinations, or not. When I was a teenager and still hormonally developing, I would have all sorts of hallucinations, which was very normal, nothing to concern over. I've been writing down each time I see her in a planning journal.

"There was an encyclopedia of well-known Japanese myths inside of the box. I lent it to a friend, and they never returned it." I tell Akiko.

"Oh, okay. We'll just put it back, then." says Akiko. I feel a respite ignite within the depths of my insides. Even if she knows that I have attempted to deceive her, this illustrates that Akiko can bring herself to accept it.

I can't help but feel a small pang of guilt. As she finds a spot for the empty box in my closet of unfathomable mysteries, I catch a glint in her eye, a glint that says 'I've been your best friend for many years, and I know when you're lying'.

Of course she knows. Just a minute ago, I joined her in pondering the box's emptiness, and now, I have an easy explanation out of the blue.

"Well, how about we search them up on the internet?" I suggest. Whether I like to think of it that way, or not, I am a coward.

"Are you sure?" she asks me. At this point, I must be making it seem as if _I_ am Kirā. It's unlike Akiko to suspect me, I must remember, but after the behavior I've been under for the past several minutes, I would have to give her the benefit of the doubt.

It's a bit too late to consider telling her about the notebook. Besides, I may just be being silly, as usual when these sorts of things occur. However, Akiko_ is_ the only person who would believe me if I claimed to catch glimpses of someone wherever I might go…

_In the Shinigami Realm _**(Third-Person Omniscient)**

"You rancid beast! What do you plan to do?" asks Kage. Yumika raises an eyebrow along with the right corner of her lip at his selection of an adjective, "rancid". It _could_ make sense when put into an appropriate metaphor, but she decides to leave it at that and have him feel that he has a relatively poor grasp on the English language. _Such a fool as he deserves a tablespoon of humiliation, I would most certainly say, _she thinks to herself.

"Hmph. Well, I suppose a female's beauty can overwhelm some into anger or so, but it is _never_ appropriate to resort to degrading a lady. I have to say, Kage, shame on you." Yumika tells him, getting a snicker out of Ryuk. Kage thinks, _Blast her! Even after all of these years, still she is able to embarrass a male right at the source…agh, never mind that! She must be stopped before she can proceed! _

"You _are_ no lady." Bukkiyo retorts.

"Now, now. I hate leaving questions unanswered. Kage, I believe we left off at 'what do you plan do to?" she turns to him, attempting to maintain innocence within her eyes. It was useless. Such a fierce glimmer of malevolence and impulse could never be concealed, even by the greatest disguise.

Kage grunts, but implies that he will listen. Yumika takes a few steps towards where the Shinigami sometimes spy on the human world.

"It has been nearly a thousand years since I last walked a free woman. Surely, someone has found my Death Note, by this time." she says, not directly to any of the three Shinigami.

"Nonsense! You never dropped your Death Note into the human world! Even if, a human would never be able to locate it! It is surely buried hopelessly under centuries of new land and civilization, by now!" Kage protests. Yumika turns back to smile at him, as Ryuk laughs, yet another time.

"Ryuk, don't tell me that you…transferred it… _for_ her!" Kage scolds, trembling with the impatient feeling of the loss of a game.

"Nah, nothing like that." Ryuk assures.

"Then I demand a word of what you _have_ done!" replies Kage. Seven minutes passed before another sound was even made, and then, Yumika said,

"Thank you for your time and trouble, Ryuk. By this day, _someone must_ be holding it." _It has been more than enough time for me to escape from Samaji, which I have done; I suppose that I proper thanking would never be enough. During my time in the human world, I will retrieve buckets of apples for Ryuk. Hmm…I would still love to make him wait for the human fruit, because I can't become _too_ nice, now._

"If someone possesses your notebook, they will appear in that water pool, there!" says Bukkiyo, pointing slowly.

_In England _**(Third-Person Omniscient)**

Mihael hears a knock on his bedroom door. He glances at the clock hanging on his wall, and as he suspected, the time is 6:47 AM, approximately 6:45 AM.

"Mello, you okay? You're always at breakfast by 6:45 on the dot, and that's fifteen minutes early, to begin with." says the familiar and unusually concerned voice of his friend. _Mail Jeevas_, otherwise known to him and all else as 'Matt'.

"I'll be at breakfast, Matt." he responds.

"Okay. Be there in five minutes, or else I'll use the rest of the chocolate syrup on my pancakes." Mail warns. Rolling his eyes, Mihael peels himself from his bed. Alas, he forgot to untangle himself from the blankets, and tumbles from over the side of the bed to the carpeted floor. It wasn't much of a fall, at all; nonetheless, Mihael lets loose a growl of frustration.

He takes less than ninety seconds to change into his usual slimming black attire—not that _he_ would need to do anything slimming, in his practically skeletal state—as well as his shoes and socks. He quickly gets his blonde hair in order that always comes to frame his face in a way that some find absolutely adorable, others ridiculous and mock-worthy, and him…Mihael, himself, has gotten over the "little girl" look to his haircut. Besides, the further away from short it is, the happier Mihael is, anyway.

For a second, he remembers words, _special_ words, words that leave him absolutely stationary in his standing position to hear _just _what is bouncing through the walls of his brain.

"_Mello…" _

_"Lela, what is it?" Mihael interrupts, impatient. _

_"Mello, I wanted to tell you that you are…" Aggressive? Rude? Brash?_

_"B-beautiful. I think that you are so beautiful, Mello." Lela tells him._

She thought he was _beautiful_? When Mihael first heard the words from her mouth, it did sound quite bizarre to him, but not necessarily because she was calling a _boy_ beautiful. No, that wasn't it at all. That alone was perfectly normal. He had wondered for a second if it was a cheap taunt because of his haircut. Why had just the sight of him made Lela nearly tear up? What did those words mean, even if at the time they sounded cheesy and pre-meditated? _Lela_…

It was the last time that he had seen Lela before she was sent off to the hospital without him being informed.

Mihael storms off to breakfast, leaving his bedroom door wide open.

_In the Shinigami Realm_** (Third-Person Omniscient)**

It is all that Ryuk, that all of the creatures around Bukkiyo can do, _not_ to laugh. The moment was painfully convenient.

"_If someone possesses your notebook, they will appear in that water pool, there!" says Bukkiyo, pointing slowly._

As if in _response_ to his pointed finger…

In the water pool, is the image of a young Japanese woman, who appears to be talking to someone else. _She_ is the holder of Yumika's notebook.

"Well, then. I guess that settles it. Looks like Yumika's got a _human_ to puppet." says Ryuk.


End file.
